


The Isle of the Blessed

by kathkin



Series: Summerpornathon 2010 [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-01
Updated: 2010-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For challenge 4 at the 2010 summerpornathon: chastity/not Arthur/Merlin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Isle of the Blessed

It was summer, but the Isle of the Blessed was cold, frosty, the lake frozen solid and shrouded in mist. His feet crunched on the grass. His breath fogged in front of him.  
“Hello?” he shouted into the gloom.

*

(The voice had been calling him for weeks now, calling him back here, here to face it again.)

 

*

For a long, freezing, shivering moment, there was no answer. But then there came a woman’s laugh, satisfied, joyful.

“You came back,” she said, the fog melting away around her. She was resting one hand on the altar. It was as if she’d grown out of it.

“You’re alive,” he said. Then, slowly, numbly, “I killed you.”

Nimueh kept smiling. “It takes more than that to kill me, Emrys.” She began to glide forward, trailing her fingers through the frost. “But it felt like you did, didn’t it? Hmm?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I don’t understand –”

“You’d killed before, though,” she said. “You’d kill with hardly a thought. For him. How does it feel?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, swearing to himself that it was the truth. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Just to see you,” she said. She passed the end of the altar and began to walk towards him. “To talk to you. To touch you…” Suddenly she was _right there_ , right in front of him, fingers brushing his face, ice-cold. He flinched. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not at all,” he said.

She smiled. “Good boy.”

The frost crawled around his ankles, creeping up, up, clinging to his legs, holding him in place. It glided around his arms and his neck and his chest, gripping him tightly, crackling cold. He opened his mouth to yell, but all that came out was a whimper. He wrestled against her hold, muscle and magic both, but it wouldn’t give.

“You could break it, you know,” she said, casually, conversationally. “If you wanted to enough.”

It was so cold it hurt. His limbs sagged, and he fell to his knees in the grip of the frost.  
“How does it feel?” she said, staring down at him, eyes gleaming blue.

“Cold,” he choked out. “Hurts.”

“No, not the ice,” she said. “The power, Emrys.” He shook his head as best he could, confused. “All that power,” cold fingers tracing his cheekbones, “surging under your skin. All that magic _glowing_ inside you. The most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth,” her fingers brushed his lips, “and not yet twenty years old. How does it feel?” He shook his head again. He might have been shivering. He was too numb to tell. “Tell me, Emrys. How does it feel to be at my mercy?”

Her eyes bored into his. “Please,” he gasped. “Please, let me go.” Something gave.  
The ice began to melt away, water running in rivulets down his skin, frost sliding off the grass, into the earth. The fog was lifting. He pulled himself up onto trembling legs.

Her hands were on him again before he could move, gripping his wrists, her breath coming on short, sharp puffs.

“It glows,” she said. “It _glows_.”

Her fingers tightened their grip. He swallowed, fear and arousal charging his blood.

 

*

 

Clothes tearing. Nails scraping over skin. The sharp edge of the altar digging into his spine as she pressed him back against it, tattered dress pulled up around her waist. He buried his face in her neck, breathed in. She smelt like rain.

Then her fingers were wrenching his breeches open, wrapping around his cock, pulling it out. She rested one knee on the altar and guided it into herself, hot and wet and shaking around him.

She straddled him, then sat back, caught her breath, watched his face like an eagle gazing at its prey. He closed his eyes, gripping her hips with both hands, and thrust up, up, over and over until she cried out, pushed back, began to ride him. The sounds of it echoed around the island.

He came first, in a rush of pleasure and magic, then slumped back against the altar, cold stone brushing his skin. She kept riding him as his come dripped out of her, slid over their skin, kept riding him as he began to soften, until she came with a burst of power that rocked the heavens.

 

*

 

As the rain began to fall around them, they were nose to nose, breath mingling, and for a moment or two she had never looked so human.


End file.
